


War Paint

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gecko is chosen by circumstance to apply the Doof's war paint before a raid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Paint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All-Doofed-Out](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All-Doofed-Out).



> For all-doofed-out on Tumblr. Inspired by: http://all-doofed-out.tumblr.com/post/124111780981/important-questions-that-keep-me-up-at-night

The roar of engines revving below was no match for the sound of Gecko’s pulse in his ears. As a Gastown boy at the Citadel, Gecko had no car, no pole, no counterweight in order to do his job. There hadn’t been a scheduled raid today, but Immortan Joe had decided he wanted something done about the Buzzards, which were beginning to snatch up some of the Wretched from the outskirts of the encampment. 

Gecko, of course, hadn’t planned on being around during all the hustle and bustle of a raid. There were too many Citadel War Boys speeding about, faintly different from his own Gastown companions. He usually didn’t mind the exhilaration of a raid, but today he wanted to just be alone. There was no way he could scale the Immortan’s Tower right now, though, as he would most likely be shot at. War Boys were a lively bunch, and target practice was always a good time. They weren’t all particularly fond of him, either way.

The polecat had begun to slip away as the chosen pack of War Boys assembled, firing off careless shots into the air and chanting. A seasoned War Boy grabbed his arm, eyes rimmed in khol and glimmering with a wizened, casual air of superiority. “Ye ain’t doin’ anythin’? The Doof needs someone to put his paint on. Go.” The order was barked, and Gecko was released as quickly as he’d been held fast in the first place.  
Of all the citizens of the Citadel, of all the War Boys milling around possible, Gecko was chosen to apply the Doof Warrior’s war clay. Hands shaking minutely, the polecat turned on his heel, altering his direction and making his way towards the cliffs where the Doof Wagon was parked. His feet seemed numb as he walked, and by the time he arrived, his eyes were fixed solely on the Warrior himself, who perched atop the Wagon where he belonged.

The Doof’s red jumpsuit was stripped open down to his waist, the sleeves tied about his hips. He was clipped into his bungee harness, tuning his guitar, mask crumpled at his side. Gecko’s heart raced at the sight of Doof’s talented fingers as they plucked at the frets of his guitar absentmindedly. The Warrior’s casual posture made Gecko exhaled slightly, but his reverie was broken by a drummer shoving a pot of clay into his hands. 

“Hurry up, we’re about’a go.” The drummer said, rushing towards the back of the Wagon and climbing aboard.  
That was all the prompting Gecko needed. He swung up onto the front of the Wagon, toes finding easy grips on the sun-heated metal. “I’m here to put your paint on.” He spoke too quickly, fingers white-knuckled around the pot of clay. 

The Doof turned to him, one brow raised slightly. Whether it was part of his disfigurement or amusement, Gecko didn’t know. The Doof jerked his chin slightly and stood up, setting his guitar on its stand and stretching. Slowly, Gecko took the two steps forward that he needed to to be in range for proper clay application. 

His eyes trailed down the Doof’s chest, following lines of muscles and scars and resting where his jumpsuit lay low on his hips. It took him a few seconds, but he managed to tear his gaze back up to the Doof’s face, scooping a palmful of clay from the pot. He dipped his fingers of his free hand into the clay and reached out, very tentatively smoothing it across the Doof’s collarbone. 

The Warrior twitched, muscles giving a minute shiver under the new sensation, but he settled almost at once. Gecko let out a soft breath and continued to apply the powder. The Doof was even more stunning up close. His scars were deep and had healed cleanly, and his disfigured face was a wonder to look at. Blind or not, however, the Doof seemed to know exactly where Gecko was looking, so the polecat struggled to keep his eyes on the Warrior’s face. 

When Gecko knelt to apply the powder to the Doof’s bare leg, the Warrior shifted a little and reached down, tugging his pants leg up. Gecko swallowed dryly, then ran his hand down from the Doof’s knee to his ankle, than around the back of his calf. He stood quickly and was about to scurry off, but the Warrior’s face was still tinged pink with natural skin tone. 

Steeling himself, Gecko drew his fingers up the Doof’s neck, over his chin, past his wind-chapped lips, and to the sunken area his eyes should have been. Carefully, he blew the rest of the clay onto the Doof’s face, than applied it to the rest of his head and the back of his neck. The Doof didn’t seem to mind how slow the whole process had gone, and he reached forward to dip his own fingers in the clay. He massaged the powder more thoroughly onto his face, then nodded, bending down to slip his mask over his face.

Gecko watched for another few seconds, then took his leave. He hurried to an enclave at the cliff’s edge, watching the Doof lift his guitar and shred a brief chord. The War Boys surrounding the Wagon roared their approval, and the drummers took up a louder, faster-paced beat. 

The raiding party began to leave, and Gecko watched the Wagon intently as it passed. At the last second, the Warrior turned to face Gecko, and if the Doof had had eyes, Gecko was sure they would have met. That split second left Gecko breathless, and he watched the Wagon until he could no longer see it. He sat in the sand, straining his eyes until he could hear the beating of the drums and the shredding of the guitar no more.


End file.
